


the water's warm

by ggwynbleidd



Series: Dethentine's [5]
Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Dethentine's, Gift Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29392563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ggwynbleidd/pseuds/ggwynbleidd
Summary: The thrilling starting chapter of the Viking-based romance novel companion piece to Metalocalypse - retired sellsword Nathan has been enlisted by a local invading Swede to join his group of merry men.For the Dethentine's prompt "In the Style of a Romance Novel."
Relationships: Nathan Explosion/Skwisgaar Skwigelf
Series: Dethentine's [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152359
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	the water's warm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [little_murmaider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_murmaider/gifts).



The village had been quiet, and peaceful, and ideal. Nathan had tended to his chickens by himself and the small plot of land that he had to tend and till himself.

Until they landed on the shores.

It wasn't a hostile takeover, the alderman made that possible. It was a peaceful trading of resources for making sure that no man, woman or child died. Nathan didn't like it but his days of fighting were long over, so he had accepted it.

Until the leader of the Norsemen had stopped by his hut. His armor was ornate for his people's, white polished metal plates over brilliant blues of tunics and the sleek blackness of boiled leathers. His hair was braided tightly against the scalp to keep long, wheat-colored hair out of his face. And his eyes.

Nathan had tried to ignore his eyes. But it was hard. They were piercing, and bright, and the color of seas on a clear day. It was appropriate for a Viking.

"M'lord," Nathan grumbled into the dirt.

He didn't bow. He bowed for no man, no king, no god.

Even if the Swedish invader looked like all three.

"This ams the ones?" his voice was haughty and loud as the stranger looked over at one of his men.

There was a mumble in their native tongue, bouncy and foreign and harsh against Nathan's ears, and he found himself staring off at one of his hens. Rachel. He couldn't remember where he heard the name from before. Perhaps one of the missionaries from the Byzantine ship that had arrived at some point, but he couldn't remember at that point.

"You ams...Nat'ens? Naaathheens? Nathans?" his eyes flickered back to the Viking at the butchering of his own name.

"Nathan," he corrected with direct eye contact.

The two of them stared at each other.

"You was a warriors, right?" he asked. “Sellswords? Somethings?”

"I was. A long time ago," Nathan rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck as if that would be any demonstration of his age and lack of martial prowess now.

"Still. You looks useful," his eyes skirted over Nathan's form. "Capables. Your village tells me that you was a sellswords until, ah-"

"One of my men stabbed me in the back, yes," Nathan tried not to itch at the scar on his right shoulder, a habit that he had taken to because of the constant itching balms that the village's healer had put on it to let the wound heal.

"You wants to works again?" the Viking asked.

"I don't work for people that I don't know the names of."

A hand was extended.

"Skwisgaar, son of Odin," he offered with an almost sincere smile.

"Isn't Odin one of your gods? Not a man?" Nathan asked.

He accepted the shake. Their hands rested on each other's forearms and Nathan took in the willowy feel of the Viking's arm under his grasp. He wondered how he would be able to swing the sword that he seemed fond of carrying.

"You ams a little more smarters than the rest of your peoples," Skwisgaar laughed. It was pleasant. More pleasant than Nathan cared to admit. "Most other peoples don'ts catch thats."

Nathan rolled his eyes. These weren't his people. Maybe that was half of the problem. That was why he felt out of place.

"You wants to join my band?" Skwisgaar asked. "Of men?"

"A band of men, huh?" Nathan scratched the back of his neck. He looked at his chickens again. He could sell them for supplies, slaughter them for meat. It was tempting to go back to that life. He had missed it more than he cared to admit.

"M-hm. I have a few others rights now. Mainly just...a young man from another of my people's lands, and a Pict from the Celtic islands. But-but I wants to create a _band_ proper. I need a close courts to holds, if I wants to take overs," Skwisgaar spoke with another laugh to punctuate his speech. There was a jovial tone to his voice, discussing such dark subjects, that Nathan found distasteful but he could look past. For now.

He wasn't sure why. There were a few things that he could find charming about the man. He was charming. He was offering a new life of adventure that Nathan had been craving for years. He was...handsome, as much as Nathan hated to admit it.

He had offered to slaughter his chickens for the journey, but Skwisgaar had told him to sell them instead. Rachel even liked the stranger - a thing that the ornery old girl wasn't prone to doing - and let him hold her in his arms as Nathan packed.

"You likes it here, huh?" Skwisgaar asked as he looked around the small hut. His free hand brushed across the hanging herbs that Nathan had put up to dry a few weeks ago.

"Like it fair enough," Nathan mumbled as he packed his few important belongings in the bag that he had. "I don't fit in here."

"Does you not?" Skwisgaar asked. "Ams you special?"

Nathan looked up at him and pinched his eyes in confusion.

"No? I don't think that at all," he rolled his eyes finally.

"You ams, I think. Ams special to me somehows," Skwisgaar grinned as wolfishly as the wolves that were stitched onto his cape. "I thinks we gonna be good friends, soons enough. Regardless, ams always nice to have a handsomes mans around to...do my dirties work."

"Why do you want to take over more land, anyway? You could stay here, lord over everyone. Become a liege lord proper," he slung the sack over his back and turned his eyes to the hanging herbs from the ceiling. There were flowers that he had put up there, as well.

"I ams gonna be a king. I have to spread my message, you knows?" Skwisgaar shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly as he pulled some of the drying mountain flowers from the ceiling.

The two of them walked out into the cold air and Skwisgaar gently deposited Rachel back into her pen with her companions. Skwisgaar still held those flowers in his hand.

"What's your message?" Nathan finally asked.

Skwisgaar turned and looked at him. Brushed a flower against the tip of his nose.

"That I am the sons of Odin," he said with that same serene smile on his face.

Nathan crinkled his nose in distaste and pulled his head back with a grunt of annoyance. Skwisgaar set one of the flowers in one of the braids in his hair.

"We travels soon. On my ships," he gestured at it near the dock. It was large, with a curved helm, masts up and put away for the time. "There you will meets my friends, and we sets off."

"Where do we sail then?" Nathan asked.

"A ports, so I can talks with a priest. He may has what I needs in the coming days," Skwisgaar's voice became so suddenly, starkly serious Nathan felt ill at ease.

"Coming days?" Nathan repeated.

"You will finds out, soon enoughs."


End file.
